


ENDLESS ROAD TO MIDNIGHT

by AgnesClementine



Series: ENDLESS ROAD TO MIDNIGHT [1]
Category: RocknRolla (2008), Supernatural
Genre: Blow Jobs, Dean Winchester Has a Sexuality Crisis, I Tried, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I can't believe nobody wrote this before, I'm late to Rocknrolla fandom but fuck it, M/M, Pre-Series Dean Winchester, and also gives Bob a new nickname, concerning smut?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-03
Updated: 2019-11-03
Packaged: 2021-01-22 10:37:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21300671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgnesClementine/pseuds/AgnesClementine
Summary: If somebody asked him what he’s doing right now, Dean would sincerely tell them to mind their own damn business and fuck off. Because, honestly, the sketchy bathroom stall, the last sip of beer for courage, and the guy standing chest to chest with him aside, he fucking doesn’t know what he’s doing.*******************************************************************AKA I can't believe nobody wrote Jensen Ackles' and Tom Hardy's characters getting it on. So I tried.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Handsome Bob
Series: ENDLESS ROAD TO MIDNIGHT [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1547563
Comments: 6
Kudos: 16





	ENDLESS ROAD TO MIDNIGHT

**Author's Note:**

> Timeline is a mess; let's say Dean is 25-ish, and Bob/Rob is too, but it's post Rocknrolla. For those familiar with Rocknrolla, he left for a field trip in USA to give One Two some breathing space after his confession. Or something. Idk, I should be sleeping, so I'm sorry if this is terrible ajhvj XD
> 
> ALSO  
A WARNING: one f-slur from a nameless asshole
> 
> But anyway, hoplefully enjoy this mess and let me know what you think! :D

If somebody asked him what he’s doing right now, Dean would sincerely tell them to _mind their own damn business and fuck off_. Because, honestly, the sketchy bathroom stall, the last sip of beer for courage, and the guy standing chest to chest with him aside, he fucking doesn’t know what he’s doing.

The guy is a good kisser, Dean will give him that. He started out strong like he’s pushing, challenging Dean, but when Dean returned in kind, he settled into something more subdued. Not submissive; just less of a fight and more of a play, teasing. Dean kissed his fair share of chicks, but he has to admit that this is- so far- a unique approach. And not…entirely unpleasant, okay.

He threw a line at Dean at the bar, and Dean went along for the hell of it, not exactly expecting they’ll end up here.

“Having second thoughts?” The guy asks him, pulling back. His pronunciation is clear, all British _proper_, and his voice is soft but a tiny bit raspy; like he smokes too much. He doesn’t smell like smoke, and Dean is latching onto details like that, and how he’s almost a head taller than the guy, to keep himself from staring at his mouth.

“Not yet,” he responds, making “_get on with it, buddy_,” obvious in his tone. He’s a bit of a jerk, he knows, but half of him itches to get the hell out of there. The other half is too curious to move.

The guy- he said his name is Bob, but it doesn’t suit him. In Dean’s mind, Bob is either a bean pole retail worker with a receding hairline or someone’s bald, slightly obese alcoholic uncle. This guy is most definitely not any of those. Bobby won’t work either, because it calls in an image that Dean really doesn’t want to see while getting off with a stranger in a rest stop in Nowhere, Ohio. So, while the guy is busy mouthing at Dean’s jaw and neck (radiating so much cheekiness that Dean might squeeze the back of his neck a bit too tight on purpose), he proclaims him Rob- or Robbie. (_What are the chances of Bob not being short for Robert?_)

He doesn’t know what to do with his hands; one is still holding firmly onto Rob’s nape, and the other is gripping a fistful of his shirt at his hip. It’s a male body, nothing- probably, he won’t assume- that he hasn’t seen already or doesn’t have access to at any time (_because he, too, is a male and oh god, he’s making out with a guy_), so he guesses there’s no point in exploring the territory. So to speak.

And it’s ridiculously hot in here; _you’d think they’d keep a window open in the goddamn bathroom_.

Rob doesn’t have any of Dean’s reservations. His hands wander from Dean’s chest lower, and lower, _and lower_ until he’s got a nice, firm hold on Dean’s crotch. Just…goes for it. Dean is not ready. He jerks, almost plopping down on the toilet and bangs his elbow on the wall separating them from the next stall over.

Rob grins, cheeks flushed and eyes sparkling with mischief. His teeth are a bit crooked, but Dean finds it strangely charming.

Still, he feels peeved at how off-balance he is in this situation, so he pulls Rob in with the hand still on his neck, kissing him strongly, and gropes his ass with the other. Might as well go for it now, right?

Rob twitches, moaning in his mouth, and then they’re making out again, pulling and rubbing against each other. Dean is rocking his hips against his hand, and Rob is squeezing at the hard outline of his dick and, God, it feels good. It occurs to him that this is not so different from what usually happens when he’s in a place like this with someone.

Rob’s got a nice ass, he thinks to himself, so damn hard he doesn’t even care about it. He’s crowding Rob against the stall door, almost has him pressed against it when Rob puts a hand on his chest to nudge him back a bit. The hand that’s been fondling him slides up to work his jeans open. When he does, he wiggles his hand inside to give Dean a smooth, languid stroke before sinking to his knees.

He doesn’t actually get to his knees (thank fuck, that floor is disgusting), but he’s crouching when he looks up at Dean and says, “So, you haven’t done this before. With blokes, I mean.”

He’s got Dean’s jeans and underwear pushed down to his knees and is pumping his fist on Dean’s dick with just the right amount of pressure, so of course it takes Dean a second to reply.

“Dude,” he says, “you’ve got a hell of timing to get chatty.” Because he’s looking up at Dean and fuck, his mouth is right there, Dean could just slip in and it would probably be wonderful-

The door outside opens and Dean freezes, listening as the footsteps approach. Rob, on the other hand, is completely unconcerned, simply keeps jerking Dean off, though, admittedly a little slower.

He caught between simple human pleasure and hunter’s instincts, holding still and alert- and then the footsteps stop. There’s a beat of silence, then an angry fist pounds at their door and a voice calls, “Fucking fags!”

Dean feels the color drain from him, and he’s partially furious- doesn’t know exactly why, on Rob's behalf maybe- but he can’t do anything before Rob is reaching back and blindly slapping his palm against the door as well.

“No comments from the audience,” he hollers, “you want a go so bloody bad, wait for your _fucking_ turn!”

And Jesus Christ, Dean has a brief flash of getting into a fistfight in the fucking bathroom with his pants around his ankles, but the guy ends up stomping out without even taking a piss, and Dean surprises himself with slapping a hand over his mouth to stifle his laughter.

Rob, the ballsy bastard, grins up at him. And then he leans in, licking a wet, perfect line from the shaft to the head of his dick, pressing his tongue flat to the underside before closing his mouth over it. It’s fucking glorious.

This is familiar; the wet, soft heat. Dean cradles his head gingerly, unaccustomed to the short hair, while Rob tongues and sucks at him. He’s good, _he’s great_, and Dean’s groaning, hissing at the sensations.

They work up a slow rhythm at first, a complete opposite of how their make-out session started. Rob pulls off a few times to catch his breath, and Dean doesn’t look, keeps his eyes closed or stares up the yellowish lamp, but by the time he works up the nerve to look, Rob’s swallowing around him like a pro. Cheeks hollowed, eyes glassy and mouth stretched and raw around him. It hits Dean, like a gut punch, that he finds it hot.

He scratches his fingers through Rob’s few months old buzz cut, groaning when Rob hums in response. He’s so not gonna last much longer, Christ.

He thinks he’s low key panicking because he’s not into guys, he’s not, and this shouldn’t be hot at all, but it’s got his motor running and Rob’s just got _something_ about him that keeps pulling Dean in. The guy was ready to suck Dean’s dick and get into a fight with some prick at the same time, for fuck’s sake.

He’s breathing heavy, swallowing, as warmth rapidly pools in the pit of his stomach. As hard as it was to start looking, Dean finds himself almost entranced, unable to look away.

Rob is pulling out all of his tricks; his throat working, sucking and sweeping his tongue over Dean’s length. He pulls back almost all the way, tonguing at the slit mercilessly and Dean’s warning him to pull off because yeah, _fuck_, he’s done.

But Rob doesn’t move and he’s, God, he’s just swallowing everything down.

He’s clearing his throat while Dean tucks himself back in. His mouth is _obscene_; red and raw, but he doesn’t try to kiss Dean again.

“You’re,” Dean finds himself saying, has to clear his own throat before continuing, “pretty good at that.”

Which is so lame. Like what the hell else would he be? _Hey, man, you’re awful at sucking dick, even though me getting off shows the opposite._

Rob quirks his eyebrows at him and his mouth twitches in amusement when he responds, “Well that’s nice to know.”

Then he peers over the stall door, and deeming the coast clear, says, “Right. You’ve got somewhere to be, or can I go out first? I’d say fifteen minutes should be enough not to rise any speculations.”

Dean’s frowning because, “What?”

“Two blokes leaving the loo together?” Rob responds. Dean didn’t notice before, but he has expressive eyes. He assumes that even if he had a mask on his face, you could still read everything in his eyes. Right now, he looks resigned, like this is a standard procedure and while Dean gets- and hell, often uses- this kind of discretion, it still rubs him the wrong way.

Before his brain authorizes it, he shrugs and says, “Don’t know anyone out there, Rob.”

“Uh, it’s Bob,” Rob tells him.

“Full name’s Robert?”

“Yes?” He says questioningly.

“Then it could be Rob, right?”

Rob shrugs, “I suppose. Just, everyone calls me Bob.”

“I’m not everyone,” Dean responds with his thousand-watt, winning smile, joking, “and Rob fits you better.”

He wonders and half expects Rob to protest, but he just gives Dean an appraising look, and Dean feels ridiculously pleased when he just hums, nodding with a slight smile on his face.

If he snags Rob by the sleeve and they leave together, nobody has to know.


End file.
